Section Twenty

“Good news! Victory at Jing County!” A rider galloped in, shouting hoarsely while cracking his whip, driving the conscripted men along the official road to Datong Prefecture. The pounding hooves kicked up clouds of mud, splattering the passersby, who hurriedly dodged aside. Before anyone could utter a curse, the cavalryman had already vanished into the distance like a gust of wind.

Spring plowing had just ended this year when the Han Prime Minister’s office issued a series of decrees to Tianjin, Baoding, Zhengding, Datong, and their subordinate counties. Over three hundred thousand militiamen and able-bodied men were conscripted and marched eastward along the official roads, transporting provisions—grain, fodder, gunpowder—stockpiled in various prefectural treasuries to Datong. More than three months had passed, and it was the lean season; nearly half the peasants in the Han-controlled lands had no rice to eat. Yet, under the harsh whips and sticks of Han officials, they had no choice but to bring their own wild vegetable cakes, don their old felt hats, and push wheelbarrows—known locally as “chick carts,” single-wheeled vehicles—onward. The incessant spring rain had turned the long-neglected official roads into muddy quagmires, making travel agonizingly difficult. Still, the Han court placed utmost importance on military matters, with strict deadlines that, if missed, meant execution. Pressured by bayonets of the imperial guards, the conscripts braved the cold, fleeing as if their lives depended on it. In the past months, countless lives had been lost solely on the stretch of road between Datong and Zhengding.

Tens of thousands of troops encircled the small city of Datong in a plum blossom formation. At dawn each day, countless soldiers poured out of the barracks, forming ranks for training. The earth trembled beneath their iron hooves, cannons thundered, intimidating the Mongol chieftains of Suiyuan, Henan, and Shanxi. In the past century, except for the time when Li Zicheng rallied forces against the Ming, no such massive army had ever been stationed in this region.

To counter the threat of the Zunghar Khanate, the empire had summoned nearly all its elite forces. Alongside this, the Han government’s accumulated wealth, saved over years, was being depleted at a staggering pace. Present-day Datong housed not only tens of thousands of soldiers and over sixty thousand militia but also fifty thousand warhorses and more than ten thousand mules and other beasts of burden. To sustain such an enormous consumption, hundreds of thousands of young men labored day and night, gathering grain and supplies from all corners of the territory to stockpile in Datong. This intense logistical effort had been ongoing for over three months, yet sufficient combat provisions had still not been amassed. Zhao Liangdong’s Fifth Army had fought for months, but the reinforcements could not set out due to a shortage of supplies and transport capacity.

Lin Feng’s days since arriving in Datong had been anything but easy. Overburdened with military affairs, he found himself unable to straighten his back. The empire was fighting on two fronts: nearby, Zhao Liangdong’s troops clashed fiercely with the Zunghar, while a thousand miles away, the battlefields of Anhui and Jiangsu simmered with unrest. Each morning upon waking, Lin Feng was inundated with reports—grain inventories, payrolls, military dispatches, intelligence from behind enemy lines, and civil petitions from Beijing—flowing in ceaselessly. Every document was critical; every detail demanded his utmost attention. Over two months, his weight steadily declined, appetite waned, and even his beard grew noticeably faster than usual.

Surveying the towering pile of petitions on his desk, Lin Feng sighed deeply. Under normal circumstances, his workload was more manageable, as most civil and military affairs were handled by the capable ministers Li Guangdi and Zhou Peigong. He only dealt with matters they deemed important. But now, with both men retained in Beijing, he had to personally attend to many tasks.

“Greetings, my lord!” Wang Shirong rose, holding a dossier, and bowed before handing it over. “I bring news, my lord. The internal strife between Khorchin and Tsetseg truly is no ordinary feud. Even Tsetseg Khan and several princes have died!”

Lin Feng took the dossier, flipping through it casually, then smiled at Wang Shirong. “Have you uncovered the cause?”

“My lord, after the upheaval in Khorchin, I immediately dispatched skilled agents deep into the steppe, passing through Suiyuan, Chahar, Ikh Juu, and Hulunbuir. Just this morning, a mounted scout returned with reports,” Wang Shirong paused, then continued, “Tsetseg’s pastures were vast—stretching west from Ulanqab, encompassing Baotou and Guihuakouzi, east to Anxi and Suzhou, spanning a thousand miles. Besides his core tribe, allied clans like Alarut and Sanyin Noyan were under his sway. But since the Zunghar advanced eastward, Tsetseg suffered several crushing defeats in Ordos and Baotou, sustaining severe losses. Many of his allied tribes defected to the Zunghar. Forced to flee westward with his son, Tsetseg sought alliance with Khorchin to jointly resist the Zunghar forces...”

“Oh, if he was defeated and fleeing, how come he dared cause trouble on Khorchin’s own turf?” Lin Feng interrupted, frowning. “No land, no power—what’s the point of making a fuss?”

“My lord, you misunderstand. This was not Tsetseg’s intention,” Wang Shirong smiled wryly, bowing slightly. “Though Tsetseg and Khorchin were ostensibly allies, in truth Tsetseg was subordinate. Tsetseg was once a powerful Mongol warlord commanding tens of thousands, with cavalry numbering over fifty or sixty thousand. But after his defeat and retreat, his forces were decimated. When he reached Suiyuan, only about sixty thousand followers remained, with barely over ten thousand soldiers. He had no choice but to seek refuge under Khorchin’s protection. This so-called ‘internal strife’ was actually an attempt by Buryagma to annex Tsetseg’s lands!”

Lin Feng nodded in understanding, then asked, “Tsetseg’s tribe had dominated the steppe for over a century. He was considered a great leader, quite renowned, wasn’t he? Though fallen on hard times now, he should still have a chance to rise again. This Buryagma fellow really has guts, not afraid of being called dishonorable. How exactly did he manage this?”

“After Tsetseg fled east to Khorchin, Khan Buryagma settled him around Sain Sanda, Hongli Temple, and Sizih River. At first, he was quite courteous—allocating vast pasturelands and even gifting over three hundred thousand cattle and sheep last winter to help Tsetseg survive the cold. But things changed at the start of this year...”

“Oh? Go on!”

“Yes,” Wang Shirong bowed slightly. “Last winter brought severe cold and heavy snow, with ice lingering two weeks longer than usual. Besides massive losses of livestock, wolf attacks ravaged the herds, causing panic among the tribes. Khorchin and Zunghar led their respective forces in a joint campaign to hunt the wolves, halting hostilities temporarily. Due to the harsh winter, all the steppe tribes suffered severe food shortages. Galdan seized this opportunity to raid south into the Central Plains to replenish supplies, causing most of the Zunghar cavalry pressing Khorchin’s borders to withdraw. Naturally, Buryagma’s frontier pressure lessened considerably.”

Lin Feng was well aware of these events. Everyone under heaven knew the nature of the alliance between the Han army and Khorchin. When Zunghar and Khorchin had clashed fiercely the previous year, Khorchin repeatedly sent emissaries to request allied reinforcements. But the elders in Beijing, while eagerly accepting horses and gold, found every excuse to delay sending troops. No doubt Buryagma was furious. Now, with the Zunghar advancing south and the Han army marching west, the diplomatic atmosphere had suddenly reversed. The previously arrogant Han court quickly changed tone, groveling to Buryagma and requesting Khorchin’s military support to coordinate with Han forces. Of course, Buryagma soon realized his tribe faced immense internal pressures—shortages of food, fodder, cannons, salt, tea, and cloth, even furniture. Until these crises were resolved, sending troops was impossible. Thus, Han envoys always left hopeful but returned disappointed.

Lin Feng shook his head with a bitter smile. “No wonder, no wonder. That old fox sure knows when to pick his moments—truly cunning and sly.”

Wang Shirong smiled in agreement. “Exactly so...” Then, with a mysterious expression, he added, “My lord, besides the fighting, another major event occurred last year among Khorchin.”

“Oh?” Lin Feng was startled. “A major event? What happened?”

“In early summer last year, Buryagma’s queen contracted a cold. Despite treatment, she passed away.”

Lin Feng was taken aback, glancing sideways at Wang Shirong, unsure what he meant. He casually asked, “Was the queen beautiful? Wasn’t she a Manchu princess or something? Could this be one of those old tales of rage over a fair lady?”

“This queen was a genuine Mongol, unrelated to the Manchus. As for her looks, I do not know, but as queen, she must have been a beauty decades ago,” Wang Shirong chuckled. “However, when she died, she was already fifty-four years old!”

Lin Feng was stunned, then burst out laughing. “Ji Yun, what joke are you playing? That old woman dying is hardly surprising! Damn, living to fifty or sixty is already a blessing—does she expect to live for centuries?”

“My lord, forgive me. That was not my point,” Wang Shirong smiled, shifting gears. “My lord should know, Tsetseg Taiji Tumenuje had a son and a daughter. The son is insignificant, but the daughter is no ordinary person...” He chuckled again. “Tsetseg’s princess is called Baorilongmei, famed across the steppe as the ‘Nightingale of the Grasslands.’ She is gifted in song and dance, skilled in horsemanship and archery, her heroic bearing rivaling any man. She is renowned for her beauty on the steppe. Tumenuje doted on her, treating her as his treasured jewel...”

Only then did Lin Feng understand and exclaimed, “You mean... could it be that this old Buryagma wants her as his new wife?”

“My lord is wise!”

“Ha! That old scoundrel really is old but not old in heart. As the saying goes, ‘A pear tree overshadowing a crabapple’—that’s the one, right? Tsk tsk...” Lin Feng laughed, cursing, “Buryagma, you son of a bitch!”